Darkness
by jellyjay
Summary: Once upon a time, Riza Hawkeye was afraid of the dark. Royai.


**Darkness**

Once upon a time, Riza Hawkeye was afraid of the dark. Lots of eight year-olds were – there were lots of things about the dark to be afraid of. The dark made familiar rooms and hallways vanish and replaced them with an ominous shroud of black nothingness. It swallowed every projectile she fired from the old slingshot she carried with her instead of fleeing like the other creatures that frightened her. It gave already invisible monsters places to hide and lie in wait, allowed them to lurk in the shadows within shadows, watching – waiting for just the right moment to pounce.

The worst part, she thought, was that she couldn't make it go away. Sometimes, when she felt particularly brave (and because she knew she had to do it), she could dash to the other side of the room to the light switch, flick it on and give a sigh of relief as the darkness receded, and the safety of the light and the familiarity of the room returned to swamp the fear within her chest.

Most other times, on stormy nights, when the lights flickered out of existence of their accord, Riza found herself huddled in the nearest corner of the room with a blanket clutched tightly around her small figure and with her eyes shut tight as she muttered useless words of comfort through tightly clenched teeth. Sometimes, sleep overcame her, and she could sleep through the terror and wake tense, but feeling much better in the morning. Other times, the rumble of thunder kept her wide awake and she had to endure the fear until her father came looking for her and put her to bed.

One particularly stormy night, as Riza sat hunched at the foot of the stairs in the living room, making herself as small as she could as she huddled in the corner of the bottom stair and the wall, things happened quite differently, and someone else called for her from another room.

"Riza?"

She jumped and clutched tighter at the blanket around her shoulders, before she realised who it was and dared to open her eyes. _Father's apprentice_, she thought as she eyed the dark silhouettes of furniture in a futile attempt to see through the darkness. "I'm here!" she called in muffled reply.

There was a creak – the unmistakeable sound of a door being opened – and then light footsteps approaching from somewhere in the distance.

"Riza?" Mr. Mustang – Roy, he told her to call him – said again. "Are you in here?" There was a soft crash – "Ow! Crud, I can't see a thing…"

She cleared her throat and with the most amount of volume she could muster, she said again in a much stronger but much higher voice: "I'm here!"

There was a little shuffling coming from the direction of the coffee table – she heard Roy whisper a swear under his breath after something fell, but at last, it sounded as if he found whatever it was he was looking for and his footsteps began again, coming closer and closer until she felt something nudge her toe.

"Sorry," he mumbled as she felt him lean against the wall beside her and slide into a sitting position so that his arm was touching hers. "Here – " there was a scratch and Riza blinked when an orangey glow came to life at his finger tips and lit up his face. Her eyes adjusted to the sudden appearance of light, and upon closer inspection, she noted the lit matchstick between his fingers as he held up the matchbox for her to take. "Sensei said something about you being afraid of the dark –"

"I'm not scared of the dark!" she lied vehemently, glaring at him.

He scoffed. "Here." He pressed the matchbox into her hand and smiled at her. "My mom told me once that all the darkness in the world couldn't get rid of the light from one lit match. I know I'm not supposed to give kids – "

"I'm not that much younger than you," she snapped. He had a lot of confidence for an eleven year old, she thought.

Roy snorted. "I'm not supposed to give people younger than me matches, but I know you won't play with them. You okay?"

Riza looked at him, and after a moment, allowed herself to lean into his shoulder while her other hand closed tightly around the matchbox. She nodded. "I think so," she said quietly, as her other hand clutched at his arm. All of a sudden, the darkness didn't seem as much of a threat.

* * *

_Present Day_

* * *

Riza Hawkeye had not been afraid of the dark in years, yet here she was, eyeing the deformed shadows of houses and streetlamps and trees with an anxiety in her chest she had not felt since the age of eight.

The Fuhrer's son was not his son. That disgustingly innocent voice rung in her ears, the bruising around her wrist and neck felt tender and the cut those _things_… those _shadows _had left on her cheek stung as the cool night air caressed her face.

_I'll be watching you from the shadows…_

Something in the distance crashed, and she jumped, clutching her coat tighter around her and broke into a run. Her apartment block came into view as she rounded a corner sharply and wrenched open the door, passing the sleeping clerk swiftly and hurried up the two flights of stairs without so much as a glance behind her. She slipped her keys into the keyhole of her door and pulled it open, wincing at the much-too-loud creak and gazed tensely at the darkened apartment.

Something blinked at her, and Riza felt the muscles in her back tense, one hand moving cautiously to the switch she knew was somewhere on the wall. She fumbled for it as the eyes came closer and nearer to the light from the hallway and a snout, followed by the small, furry head of Black Hayate came into the light.

Riza flicked at the switch and released the shaky breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Leaning against the door frame, she slid into a sitting position and rested her head against her hands.

_I'll be watching you from the shadows…_

"It's okay," she mumbled to herself as Black Hayate sniffed at her elbow. "It's okay…"

This was pathetic, she thought. A grown woman, a First Lieutenant in the Amestrian Military, sat trembling at her door frame feeling afraid of the dark for the first time in nineteen years. _Pathetic. _Hayate sniffed at the bruise on her wrist concernedly, and then –

_Riiiiing._

She jumped. The telephone. Of course. A little shakily, she pulled herself to her feet and made her way to the desk in the corner of the room, lifted the receiver to cease the ringing and pressed it against her ear. "…Hello?"

"_Evening Miss, this is your favourite florist making a courtesy call." _

"I don't _have _a favourite florist," she snapped without thinking.

"_Yeah, sorry,_" came the reply in the unmistakeable voice of Roy Mustang. _"I got really drunk and bought a ton of flowers. Think you could take some off my hands?" _

Riza gave a sigh of relief and lifted a hand to massage her forehead.

There was a pause. And then –

"_What's wrong? Did something happen?_"

Riza blinked. The man knew her too well. She considered, for a moment, telling him the night's events – he had a right to know – he was, after all, a friend if not her superior officer anymore. But…

_I'll be watching you from the shadows…_

"No," she lied in what she hoped was a much calmer voice. She felt calmer now, at least. "Nothing."

There was another pause. He didn't believe her. "…_You_ _sure?_"

"Everything's fine, sir," said Riza. "I'm sorry though, I don't have any vases or pots here." Odd how his voice made everything feel so much better. She took a moment's hesitation to take one more calming breath and closed her eyes. "I appreciate your calling me, Colonel," she added quietly. "It's late. I should go – good evening, sir."

She hung up before he could question her any more. Hayate looked up at her from her heels and she gave one last sigh of relief before bending over and scratching him behind the ears. "How does he manage to have such good timing?" she asked him.

Hayate tilted his head to the side and barked in reply. Riza took a seat at the foot of the desk and allowed the dog to climb into her lap as she reached up into the desk drawer and pulled out a small box of matches.

The darkness would be there, but as Roy Mustang had taught her years and years before, it could not extinguish the light from a matchstick.

She was no longer eight years old. The darkness wouldn't scare her again.


End file.
